


Cool Kids

by SageMasterofSass



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Bullying, Crying Yamaguchi, Fluff, Freckles, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Lots of 'I love you's, M/M, Tsukishima being the best boyfriend, dick kissing, god i love yams freckles, offical member of the Yamaguchi Protection Squad, this fic was actually just called Freckled Dick before it ever had a name, to make up for all the sad yams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-10
Updated: 2014-09-10
Packaged: 2018-02-16 22:08:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2286141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SageMasterofSass/pseuds/SageMasterofSass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tsukishima stumbles across something he'd rather not see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cool Kids

**Author's Note:**

> Step One: Listen to Cool Kids by Echosmith  
> Step Two: Think about Yamaguchi  
> Step Three: Cry  
> Step Four: Lather, rinse, repeat

Tsukishima knows he’s not very good with words. Not of the caring variety, anyways. When he speaks the only things that seem to emerge are harsh, belittling and hard-edged, even when he doesn’t intend them to be. He doesn’t mind it for the most part, but sometimes, like now, he wishes he were normal.

If he were normal, Tsukishima thinks, he’d be able to handle this better. He’d be able to speak softly, kindly, and comfort the boy curled into himself, forehead to his knees. He’d be able to ease Yamaguchi’s pain, to bring back that soft smile and those bright eyes.

But he’s not normal and so he can’t.

They’re in Yamaguchi’s room, the boy himself tucked into the corner on his bed and Tsukishima is simply sitting on the edge of the mattress, unsure of himself and the distance between them. It’s quiet. Tsukishima hasn’t said anything since…well since he’d stumbled across three guys cornering someone in the men’s restroom after school earlier that day.

“Just go die,” one of them had spat, hand curling into a fist. “Stupid freckle face.”

“Yeah,” another had chimed in, “everyone hates you anyways.”

The third had laughed and kicked the person kneeling in front of them, face obscured by their bodies.

From his spot by the door, Tsukishima had cleared his throat, expression bored and arrogant. But then the bullies had turned to face him, revealing Yamaguchi on the floor, bent over double from the blow to his stomach and suddenly Tsukishima wasn’t simply walking into the wrong room at the wrong time and saving some defenseless kid without even meaning to. Now this was personal.

“Get lost,” he’d growled, chin up, lips pulled back to bare teeth.

The three guys, faceless upperclassmen, had scurried away fairly quickly, but not before one had had the audacity to spit on Yamaguchi’s still kneeling form. Tsukishima’s vision had swam with red at that but he’d let them escape.

Yamaguchi had peered up at him, face strangely blank. When Tsukishima had said, “Let’s go home,” he’d climbed to his feet and followed obediently.

Now they’re here and Yamaguchi hasn’t spoken and Tsukishima hasn’t spoken and he’s not sure what the hell he’s supposed to do but Yamaguchi looks decidedly _not so good._ Tsukishima has the vague idea that maybe he should try and comfort his boyfriend, but he’s so terrible at that kind of thing that he has no idea where he’d even begin.

He’s considering moving closer and throwing an arm around Yamaguchi’s shoulders when the boy in question sighs and shifts, lifting his head slowly. The smile he offers is shaky and rather painful looking.

“Sorry, Tsukki,” he mumbles, and his voice sounds wet like he might start crying if Tsukishima isn’t careful. “I didn’t mean for you to see that.”

Tsukishima’s brow knits and he frowns more harshly than he means to. “What do you mean?”

“I just…” Yamaguchi trails off, ducking his head so that his bangs fall across his face. His toes curl and uncurl restlessly against the sheets and his fingers grip his knees with white knuckle force. When he speaks again it’s barely a whisper. “I’m sorry you had to see me be so pathetic.”

Something cold grips Tsukishima’s heart, his breath catches in his throat, unable to escape, and words tumble frantically through his mind, too quickly for him to catch their meaning. He doesn’t have time to sort it all out before his lips are parting and he’s saying, “You’re not pathetic,” on autopilot.

Instantly Yamaguchi is shaking his head, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes as he finally starts to cry. “I am,” he says, louder this time, but wobbly, broken.  “I always need your help in school and I can’t understand the lectures and I’m slow and weak and I’m ugly, so ugly, everything they said about me is true.” The words trail away into sobs, Yamaguchi’s entire body trembling with them and Tsukishima finds he can no longer breathe.

He doesn’t hesitate this time when instinct tells him to close the gap between himself and Yamaguchi, and he does so quickly, tucking his legs under himself and reaching for his boyfriend with shaking fingers. Tsukishima grabs his wrists, pulling Yamaguchi’s hands away from his face so that he can see the dark haired boy properly.

“You’re not any of those things,” he says awkwardly, still on auto pilot and trying to hold Yamaguchi’s gaze with his own. In the end he can’t do it and has to drop his eyes, cursing himself mentally for his inability to connect with others. What is he supposed to do next? What would make Yamaguchi feel better?

Tsukishima can hear Yamaguchi sniffle quietly and feel the weight of his boyfriend watching him, but he doesn’t look up.

“You’re not any of those things,” he continues, “and you shouldn’t listen to those assholes. They’re just jealous.”

A small, startled laugh has Tsukishima lifting his head and he watches as Yamaguchi grins self-deprecatingly, pulling one hand from Tsukishima’s grip to gesture to himself. “Jealous of what? This? What’s there to be jealous of? I’m just a freckled loser.”

The one hand still gripping Yamaguchi’s wrist tightens painfully. “Everything,” Tsukishima snarls, voice harsher than he intended it to be as he feels anger well up in him. And here it comes, he’s going to slip back into his usual way of speaking and he’s going to push his boyfriend away, make him feel even worse. But he finds that he can’t stop talking now that he’s started, the words just flow out of him in an angry, heated rush. “They’ve got everything to be jealous of. You’ve been in college prep classes since the day you entered high school Tadashi, and you only need help studying occasionally. Hell, you even help me on my homework sometimes, so don’t you ever try to tell me you’re not smart. Everyone on the volleyball teams loves you and everyone knows you work hard. All the underclassmen look up to you and the coach even has you teaching serves to the younger ones. You weren’t a starter first year, but you are now and you’ve been earning it since day one. I love you, but you’re being an idiot and you can’t let those stupid words get to you.”

There’s a moment of quiet in which the only thing heard is Tsukishima’s harsh breathing, even Yamaguchi’s crying has died away, as if he’s been completely taken by surprise. For a moment his face is clear, open, like he wants to believe everything Tsukishima has said, but then something dark twists his features momentarily and he drops his eyes, body slumping.

“’m still ugly,” he mutters softly, almost under his breath.

Tsukishima really can’t decide if he’s in pain because Yamaguchi is hurting or if he’s angry or what. But all that rolling emotion still comes to an abrupt stop and he sighs, reaching out take his boyfriend’s face in his hands.

“You’re not ugly,” he says, voice low, and when Yamaguchi refuses to meet his eyes, when it looks like tears are starting to bead up beneath his lashes, Tsukishima leans forward and kisses the bridge of his nose. And he does it again and again, moving across each of Yamaguchi’s cheeks in turn.

After a moment Yamaguchi speaks up, shakily asking, “W-what are you doing, Tsukki?”

Tsukishima leans back for a second, both hands on the hem of his boyfriend’s shirt before he pulls it up and over, said boyfriend offering no resistance other than a small, confused noise. And then he’s crowding back into Yamaguchi’s space, kissing down the exposed slope of his neck, to his shoulders and collarbone.

“You’re not ugly,” he says, lips brushing warm skin. “I love you and I love your body.”

Yamaguchi shudders lightly, and he covers his face with both hands, breath hitching as he refuses to watch Tsukishima continue to kiss down his chest. “I’m covered in freckles though,” he says, voice muffled by his palms. “They’re so ugly, like pimples.”

For a second Tsukishima pauses, and then he moves back a little to examine his boyfriend. It’s true, he is covered in freckles. They splatter across his shoulders, down the lean lengths of his arms, and appear randomly on his stomach and chest, little dark pinpoints. Tsukishima also knows there are large clusters right by his hips, along the insides of his thighs and down his legs to his feet. They scatter across his back, down onto his butt and then up again along the back of his neck, endless stars forming constellations across his body like he is the heavens laid bare themselves. Tsukishima can’t fathom why he thinks himself ugly, why he thinks the cosmos written across his very skin are unbearable.

“They’re beautiful,” he says, leaning back down to kiss the ones on Yamaguchi’s shoulder. “Like the stars.”

Yamaguchi makes a choking kind of noise, one of pain and disbelief but also something hopeful. His hands still obscure his face.

“I think of all the bad things people say about me when I see them,” he breathes, tilting his head back until it rests against the wall. “I hate looking at them.”

Something in Tsukishima’s chest twinges again and he gives a low hum, continuing to kiss all the freckles on Yamaguchi’s shoulder before switching to the other and kissing the ones there too. Then he’s shuffling back on the bed, craning his neck so he can peck each and every one down the slope of Yamaguchi’s front.

“I’ll kiss them all,” he says, sitting back up and holding his boyfriend gently. “So only think of me when you see them, okay?”

That finally gets Yamaguchi to drop his hands, eyes doubtful and mouth twisted slightly as he stares at Tsukishima. But he nods all the same, and Tsukishima takes it as encouragement, hold trailing down until he can take Yamaguchi’s right arm, and starting at the bicep, kiss his way down the freckled path there. He pauses when he gets to his boyfriend’s hand, kissing each fingertip individually, even though they’re not marked, and then the center of his palm, lingering there to press his tongue between the gap of his lips and then breathe softly on the moist spot he’s made. Yamaguchi shivers and Tsukishima switches to give the same treatment to the other arm.

“Tsukki,” Yamaguchi murmurs, sounding close to tears once more. But Tsukishima isn’t done and he scoots back, dragging his boyfriend with him and then pushes him down flat to the bed. He guides Yamaguchi’s hips up and then works both underwear and pants down off them, wriggling until the dark haired boy is completely naked and the two garments are being thrown to the foot of the bed, forgotten.

Smoothing his hands down the flat, muscled plane of Yamaguchi’s stomach causes the boy to shiver again, and when Tsukishima reaches the jut of his hips and the thickness of his thighs he tries to curl into himself, but Tsukishima doesn’t allow it, pressing his palms down heavily to keep his boyfriend in place.

“Only me,” he says seriously, leaning down so that his breath ghosts over the skin of Yamaguchi’s navel. “Think only of me when you see them.”

He starts with the freckles there, that dance in and out of the trail of hair leading down. Then Tsukishima devotes his attention to Yamaguchi’s right side, hip, thigh, knee, calf then foot, kissing every dark star he comes across. He moves back up, starts the process anew on the left side, moving completely past Yamaguchi’s slowly hardening cock.

Above him his boyfriend is breathing quickly, wetly, and his hands grasp randomly at the sheets, like he isn’t sure what to do with them. When Tsukishima settles himself comfortably on his stomach between his boyfriend’s thighs, Yamaguchi makes a high kind of whine in his throat, pained.

“Tsukki,” he says again. “Why are you doing this?”

Tsukishima glances up, meets Yamaguchi’s eyes, and then drops his gaze again to where his boyfriend is half hard. “I love your freckles,” he mumbles, eyebrows knit as he takes Yamaguchi’s cock in hand and strokes it lightly. “And I want you to love them too.”

“That’s,” Yamaguchi starts, but Tsukishma cuts him off as he breathes, “Even the ones here,” and leans in to trail his lips from freckle to freckle along the length of his boyfriend’s dick.

Cock stiffening against Tsukishima’s mouth, Yamaguchi gives a soft moan, and his hands, once twisting in the sheets, fly back up to cover his face again. His entire body shudders when Tsukishima flicks his tongue deftly along the slit and then licks stripes between freckles, his non-existent rhythm keeping Yamaguchi gasping at every touch.

At least this, at least this physicality is something Tsukishima is comfortable with. Making Yamaguchi feel good in this way is certainly something he can accomplish with ease, though this really hadn’t been the direction he’d seen things turning. It still sends a wash of emotions flooding through him, thinking of his boyfriend curled up on that bathroom floor, and it makes it worse when he remembers the things Yamaguchi has said about himself. He doesn’t want Yamaguchi to feel that way ever again.

Tsukishima sighs, pauses in what he’s doing to look up his boyfriend’s body and watch Yamaguchi’s face. He’s still got his hands over his eyes and his chest moves quickly with his fast breathing, mouth parted, and there are tell-tell shimmery streaks down his face that say he’s been crying again. After a moment Tsukishima is moving to hover over his boyfriend on all fours.

“Why are you crying?”

Silence stretches between them for a beat and then, barely a whisper, “You’re being so nice…you’re too good to me, Kei.”

“Please,” Tsukishima says back, “I’m not nearly good enough. If I was those guys would be in their graves right now. Or better yet, they never would have looked twice at you in the first place.”

That pulls a small, bubbling laugh from Yamaguchi and the dark haired boy peeks almost shyly from between his fingers, sniffling quietly as he continues to cry. “You’d do that for me?”

To remind his boyfriend of _exactly_ was he is willing to do, and has already been trying to do, Tsukishima trails one hand down Yamaguchi’s front and then wraps it firmly around his cock, giving it one slow, long pull.

“Of course,” he mumbles just as Yamaguchi gasps, back arching slightly, and Tsukishima takes the opportunity presented to lean down and pull his boyfriend’s plush bottom lip between his teeth. Continuing to work Yamaguchi’s dick, picking up speed and twisting his wrist in the way he knows the darker haired boy likes, Tsukishima releases his lip, intent on kissing his boyfriend breathless but Yamaguchi turns away, tears still welling in his eyes.

“You,” he gasps, hands leaving his face to wrap shakily around Tsukishima’s shoulders, “you love me, right Kei?”

Does he fucking ever. But Tsukishima doesn’t say that, just nods and tries not to focus on how vulnerable Yamaguchi looks under him right now.

“And,” he continues, breathless as he presses his hips up to meet Tsukishima’s touch, “my body? My freckles? You love those too?”

‘Have you been listening to me at all?’ Tsukishima wants to snap. He wants to growl and press Yamaguchi into the mattress, mark his throat and shoulders with bruises dark enough to prove that he’s head over heels for every aspect of this boy, every freckle, every stutter, every batted eyelash and every serve. That’s not what his boyfriend needs right now though. So Tsukishima swallows the words and the heat and he leans down again to press a soft, chaste kiss to Yamaguchi’s lips.

“I love you,” he murmurs. “I love you and your body and your freckles and everything about you, Tadashi Yamaguchi.”

His boyfriend comes with a small gasp, body shuddering, tears trailing softly down his cheeks. Tsukishima works him down from it slowly and then grabs his discarded shirt to clean them both up. By the time he’s done Yamaguchi has stopped crying, soft gaze following Tsukishima’s movements as he curls himself around the dark haired boy with a little sigh.

“Don’t say that stuff anymore,” Tsukishima demands, burying his face in the crook of Yamaguchi’s neck. Despite the fact that he’s still fully clothed and is not the one who just got off, he’s exhausted and he can feel sleep licking heavily at his conscious. “Don’t say those kinds of thinks about yourself.”

Yamaguchi, one arm around Tsukishima’s shoulders, just gives a quiet hum of consent.


End file.
